


(check all your) vital signs

by talking_tina



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, First Meetings, Gen, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2307200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talking_tina/pseuds/talking_tina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's got too many faces and not enough mirrors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(check all your) vital signs

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so these pieces are, like, three years old, but they've never been published, so i thought i'd blow the dust off them and post them here. hope you enjoy.
> 
> inspired by party's twitter, which can be found [here](https://twitter.com/partypoison).
> 
> disclaimer: all major characters belong to gerard way's cool brain. minor characters belong to me.

_Party Poison: What’s my motivation? Give me sounds._

**01: make some noise**

**Mid-Zone 3**

**California, USA**

**September 15, 2019**

**22:34 PST**

“Hey, Party?” Jet Star began, voice loud in the quiet of the desert.

The five of them had risked a quick raid in Zone 3, but the day’s action had come and gone and now they were camped out in the middle of nowhere. Kobra, Ghoul, and Missile were all sound asleep, curled up into themselves and breathing quietly, while Party and Jet were sitting on opposite sides of the dying fire they had made earlier. It had cooled off dramatically, and had become quite dark, but embers from what remained of their fire still glowed and gave off just enough light for Jet to see the silhouette of Party Poison’s hunched figure in the darkness.

The redhead looked up, but said nothing.

“Have you ever thought about, like… joining BLI?”

 

Much to Jet’s alarm, Party laughed, loud enough for the brunette to cast a concerned glance at his sleeping friends. “What’s this talk of treachery?  Have you been smoking something new lately, Jet?” He exhaled through his nose in something akin to a snort. “I’ll join those white-suits when Doctor D gets his ass out of that damn motor-chair.”

 

Jet raised an eyebrow, even though he knew Party couldn’t see it.  “But how are you, like… like, our lifestyle is _so much_ harder than theirs, what’s driving you? What’s _possibly_ keeping you so loyal to our cause when it’s so goddamn hopeless?”

 

Jet saw something twinkle in Party’s eyes before the redhead lowered his arms and grinned.

 

“You mean, what’s my motivation? _Give me sounds_.”

               

X

 

_Never Too Late: Who are you bitch?_

_Party Poison: I’m ZERO PERCENT. And I’m YOU when I feel like it._

 

**02: zero percent**

 

**Outer-Zone 5**

**California, USA**

**May 13, 2016**

**16:54 PST**

               

Party Poison worked alone.

 

He loved working alone. He loved getting that _look_ that zone-runners would shoot him once they recognized that cherry-bomb hair and ocean-blue jacket and yellow mask. He loved smiling back at them like wolves and holding his head even higher, snidely, arrogantly, eyes narrowed to slits. He loved knowing that they knew he was _the_ Party Poison, the one and only, the pioneer killjoy.

 

But there were, of course, times when he’d run into people who’d never heard of him.

 

He’d always thought first impressions were fun to make.

 

He was just outside the small, crumbling amphitheatre where Mad Gear was scheduled to play later that night, leaning against his precious Trans Am and having a smoke. It was hot as hell out, and Party was sweating like no tomorrow, but despite the heat, he still kept his Dead Pegasus jacket on—he never knew when those acid rains would kick in—and his mask up.

 

He had tapped off the last few ashes of his cigarette, about to leave, when he saw them.

 

There were two of them, maybe a few years younger than himself—a guy dressed in prominently black with a Mohawk and both of his ears gauged, and a redheaded girl in torn fishnets and a skull-print pink sundress. She was fuming, walking briskly away from the other with a hard scowl that was twisting what would have been pretty face. Mohawk was following her closely, but as casually as possible, hands rammed into his back pockets as he struggled to keep up with her without breaking his casual pace.

               

 “Hey, no, sweetheart, come on, don’t be that way…” Mohawk cooed, still going after her. They were nearing Party quickly, but neither seemed to notice him.

 

Mohawk reached out for the girl’s arm and she yanked it away angrily, turning to face him while turning her back towards Party Poison.

 

“Don’t _touch_ me, you grimy asshole, I want nothing to do with you _or_ your disgusting dick—”

 

The man just grinned at her attitude as she glared at him, hands curling into fists.

 

“No need to be so aggressive, love, I’m just offering you a good time,” he countered, both hands reaching for Red’s waist.

 

Party could see this wasn’t going to turn out too well.

 

He frowned and stubbed out his cig on the hood of his car, before reaching for the gun still holstered at his hip. He whistled loudly, and both of them turned sharply to face him, apparently being oblivious to his presence before.

 

“'The fuck do you want?” Mohawk inquired rudely, grabbing the girl and shoving her behind him, ignoring her rather colorfully-worded protests.

 

Party shrugged uselessly. “Nothin’, really. Just thought I’d let ‘cha know that I think Redhead over there wants you to piss off.” He gestured loosely over to the girl behind him, yellow ray gun in hand.

 

Mohawk growled at the potential weapon and reached for his own.

 

“You try anything, I’ll shoot ‘cha! I ain’t screwing around!”

 

Party laughed, much to Mohawk’s annoyance, before suddenly going dead serious, taking a step forward and raising his ray gun so it was level with the other’s head.

 

“This can turn real ugly, real fast.” Party said gravely.

 

Mohawk stuttered, pockmarked face flushing and eyes widening.

 

Party pursed his lips at the other’s shocked expression. “What’s wrong, kid? Weren’t ‘cha gonna shoot me?”

 

The other quickly schooled his expression and growled, raising his hand to shove the yellow blaster away from him, raising his own and pointing it at Party’s masked face.

 

“Who the fuck d’ya think you are, bitch?”

 

Party Poison grinned, unnerving the other, before once again raising his gun and shoving it hard into the other’s temple.

 

“I’m _zero percent_.” He said harshly, pressing the barrel of the gun further into the other’s skull. Party Poison gave Mohawk a quick once-over, noting the messy eyeliner and fishnet gloves. “And I’m _you_ when I feel like it.”

 

He was still smiling as he pulled the trigger.

 

X

 

_Kid Killjoy: You sound like someone who’s done a lot of rebelling in their life._

_Party Poison: Everyone’s got a past._

 

**03: kill the party**

**Abandoned Diner, Mid-Zone 6**

**California, USA**

**April 18, 2017**

**14:03 Pacific Time Zone**

Party Poison usually worked solo.

 

But occasionally he ran into someone who he could stand.

 

He was raiding out an abandoned diner in Zone 6, looking for another potential base for Dr. Death Defying as the older man was convinced BLI would find their current one pretty soon. Party Poison’s ray gun was raised, and he was looking carefully behind all corners. The diner had probably seen better days—the “N” and the “R” had fallen off of the neon sign, and it was absolutely filthy inside—but, he thought as he continued to scout the rooms, it would do as headquarters for now.

 

He immediately froze and pressed himself against a wall, directly outside a doorway when he heard a scuffle from a storage room he had yet to look through.

 

And sure enough, someone emerged from the other room and had a green blaster pointed to his chest as soon as he had his own yellow ray gun pointed to theirs.

 

The man was several inches shorter than him, and half his face was hiding under a curtain of greasy black hair that almost reached to his shoulders.  The yellow T-shirt he wore was filthy, but the fact was somewhat masked by the black stripes adorning it and the military green vest that hung loosely over his frame. Party’s eyes flicked upwards, and he did a quick analysis of his face—round, and with a strong-looking jaw, but also adorned with a small pixie-ish nose and dark brown eyes. Something resembling a Frankenstein mask was tied around his head, but shoved to the side.

 

He saw the man making a similar study of him, before frowning and shoving his gun further into his chest. Party suppressed a wince.

 

“’The hell are you, and why you crashing my party?”

 

Party Poison smiled at the irony and raised his hand that wasn’t occupied with his gun and pulled his mask down so it hung loosely around his neck. “’Name’s Party Poison, so I guess crashing parties is right up my lane. You?”

 

Still frowning, the man replied. “Fun Ghoul.”

 

Party laughed. Well, he knew some Italian. “Is that supposed to be a pun, or is it only me that knows Italian?”

 

The man looked taken aback for a moment, and then grinned. “You’re the first one I met out here in the zones whose caught that. You know Italian?”

 

At this, Fun Ghoul finally lowered his gun, and Party followed suit, shoving it back into his holster. “Here an’ there. Got some Italian on my ma’s side.”

 

“Mm. Both my parents were. You’d find them talking ‘Talian at home all the time and I’d be ‘plying back in English, you know?”

 

Party snorted. “I can relate. So, any particular reason you’re here? Or were you sent here to kill me, after all?”

 

Fun Ghoul crossed his arms and tilted his chin up slightly. “Scouting for somethin’ edible, ‘sides Power Pup. And anything else useful. You?”

 

“Looking for another base for Doctor D. You know him?”

 

Fun Ghoul raised his eyebrows. “’Course I know him! Well, I know of him, at least. I listen to his broadcasts all the time. What, do you know him personally?”

Party nodded. “Yup. He’s practically raised me, and, well, I’ve been helping him out with shit all the time, ever since. So, here I am.” He gestured loosely to the shabby-looking hallway they were standing in.

 

Fun Ghoul pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side slightly, hair falling over his eyes. “You sound like the kind of guy Doctor D would know.” He paused, looking at Party with an observing eye. “You sound like someone’s who’s done a lot of rebelling in their life.”

 

Party frowned slightly. “Everyone’s got a past, kid.”

               

X

_Nightmare Mai: How long have you known Dr Death Defying?_

_Party Poison: All my 2nd life._

**04: traffic reports**

**Mid-Zone 6**

**California, USA**

**April 18, 2017**

**14:52 PST**

 

They had only been driving for only a few minutes, back to the Doctor’s current headquarters. Fun Ghoul had gladly accepted Party’s offer to meet the radio legend and was sitting in the passenger seat, completely disregarding the need for a seatbelt. Neither had talked much since meeting earlier that hour, but now Ghoul spoke up.

 

“You said Doctor D saved your life, right?” he asked, turning to the redhead. Party didn’t take his eyes off the non-existent road, but nodded silently. “If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly did that play out?”

 

Party Poison sighed, shoulders sagging slightly. “Like I said, everyone’s got a past, Ghoul. Some more… interesting than others. You catching my drift?”

 

Frowning, Ghoul nodded solemnly. “Clear as a kaleidoscope on steroids, love.”

 

Party laughed, but it was a hollow sound.

 

It was quiet again for another several minutes, but Fun Ghoul spoke up once more.

 

“That happened a while ago, right?”

 

Party nodded.

 

“So, then… how long have you known Doctor Death Defying?”

 

Party smiled a bitter smile. “All my second life.”

 

X

 

_Party Poison: Hard to see. With other peoples. Blood in eyes._

**05: what it takes to survive**

**Abandoned Diner, Mid-Zone 6**

**California, USA**

**March 21, 2019**

**20:16 PST**

Jet Star was starting to worry a little.

 

That probably shouldn’t have said much—to be perfectly honest, there was hardly a time that he _wasn’t_ worried, what with a bomb-maker, a hit-man and his brother all under one roof.

 

But this time, he had a good, solid reason to be worried.

 

Party had left with Fun Ghoul—those two were always off doing something stupid—to go “blow shit up” somewhere in Zone 2, and said that if they weren’t back by the end of the day, with or without the Trans Am, that they had probably ended up exploding into tiny tidbits by one of Ghoul’s rockets.

 

Jet was beginning to think that might have been the case.

 

It was already past nine, and there was still no word of them. Jet Star had been sitting at one of the tables for several hours now, one of their radio transmitters sitting on the tabletop, just in case Party was in trouble and he needed to ring in.

 

Just in case.

 

But to Jet Star, it felt less like “just in case” and more like, “if it isn’t too late”.

 

His feet were tapping on the linoleum floor, and his fingers were tapping the table non-stop. He was restless. He just needed to make sure they were at least _okay._

 

At least okay.

 

But dammit, he _didn’t know_.

 

He nearly fell off of his seat when suddenly static erupted from the transmitter and he grabbed it frantically and held it close.

 

“ _Doc—_ ” more static, _“—eath_?”

 

Party didn’t sound like he was o-freaking-kay.

 

Immediately, Jet replied. “Party! It’s Jet Star, where are you, are you okay?”

 

He anxiously waited for a response.

 

One second.

 

 

 

 

“Goddammit, Party, hurry the fuck up!” Jet hissed.

 

As if on cue, another string of static burst from the transmitter.

 

Jet Star’s heart stopped at the words that followed.

 

Static “— _ard to see_ —” more static, “ _With other peop_ —” another burst of static, “— _lood in eyes_ —” Static.

 

_Hard to see. With other peoples. Blood in eyes._

 

Not wasting any more time, Jet Star grabbed his helmet, exited the diner, and hopped on his motorbike.

 

Party Poison wasn’t going to die tonight.

 

X

 

_Party Poison: I’ve got too many faces and not enough mirrors._

**06: all my skin**

**Abandoned Diner, Mid-Zone 6**

**California, USA**

**October 16, 2019**

**17:32 PST**

“Hey.”

 

Party turned around from his position leaning against the doorframe and was greeted by the sight of the ever-present Doctor Death Defying, sitting in his wheel chair and giving Party a critical look. Somehow, that man had a way of making that thing seem less like a motorized wheel chair and more like a throne.

 

“Hey,” Party replied, grinning brightly, before once again turning his back again and facing the outside.

 

He had been leaning against that doorframe for a while, watching his brothers horse around with Missile Kid, like the little sister they never had. Party liked watching them. He liked watching them laugh. It made him feel good inside.

 

Doctor D wheeled himself forward until he was side-by-side with Poison, watching the others play. They were both silent for several moment until Doctor D spoke up.

 

“She’s a good kid.”

 

Party nodded, solemnly. “Shame she had to grow up in a shithole like this.”

 

Death laughed, a little hollowly. “Yeah, it is. But she has a good family.” Party turned to face the older man, who was still focused on Missile. He turned to look up at Party. “She has good brothers.”

 

Party smiled, before turning back to the scene before them. “Thanks, D.” He knew how difficult it was for the older man to voice his feelings.

 

It was quiet for another few minutes before Party spoke up.

 

“D, I was kinda wondering… why…” He sighed and scratched his head. “Aw, screw it. Lemme just get straight to the point. Six years ago. Why did you decide to take me? Out of all of ‘em.”

 

Doctor Death sighed.

 

When the fires came, and BLI was at its most powerful, they took him in and tried to change him. He got a haircut every two weeks and he was prohibited from dyeing it. Any poetry he wrote was confiscated. Any drawings he did that weren’t strictly still life were taken and torn apart.

 

Any color he used was drained out.

 

And then, out of the blue, a band of crazy, colorful dudes break in and totally start _massacring_ all of the orphanage staff.

 

And Party couldn’t help but join.

 

And then Doctor D—who, at that time, wasn’t yet disabled, had turned to that group of kids—some of them cowering in corners and begging for their lives to be spared, others rushing to fight the intruders, and yet others still doing to help the Dracs that had been taken out.

 

Except for two.

 

One, an eighteen-year-old, brunette killjoy, standing in the middle of the white-washed room, in his bood-stained white-washed clothes and _grinning_.

 

(The other, a walking skeleton, in dirty blonde hair and glasses, arms crossed and giving the Doctor a skeptical look.)

 

“Well, Party,” Doctor D finally answered, startling both of them out of their semi-flashbacks. “I found that one pretty obvious.”

 

Party shot him a strange look.

 

“You know, kid… since the first time I saw you, I knew you weren’t meant to be locked up in there. I mean, no one is, but you… you _couldn’t_ be.”

 

Party Poison smiled.

 

“You had that look in your eyes.”

 

And then he frowned.

 

“It’s that insane look, isn’t it? The batshit crazy one.”

 

Death nodded.

 

Party Poison sighed, turning to watch Missile Kid and the others playing in the sand. “Sometimes, I kinda wish I wasn’t like that. I _know_ there’s something wrong with me, mentally, but I don’t know _what._ I mean, I talk different than everybody else, and-and I... I think differently, and I see things differently. And sometimes,” Party raised both his hands and dug his fingers into his skull shaking his head. “Sometimes I hear these voices in my head, you know? Not actual, physical voices but _something_ pushing me, telling me to do something I shouldn’t, and _sometimes¸_ I feel like…” he sighed and let his arms drop. “I’ve got too many faces and not enough mirrors.”

 

Death was quiet for a moment, before nodding.

 

 “You don’t need any mirrors, kid. Out here, you don’t need to see your face. The only faces you have to see are your brothers’. And your sister’s.” He tilted his head in their direction.

 

“Besides,” he added, a little more loudly than necessary and breaking the sad air that had fallen over them. “The other four have got your back, anyway.”

 

And with that, he turned back into the diner.


End file.
